


a great storm (waves be hushed)

by Ekaterinn



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anxiety, Caretaking, Depression, Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 06:29:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19901320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ekaterinn/pseuds/Ekaterinn
Summary: It has been a particularly bad string of days for Crowley.  Aziraphale helps, as best he can.





	a great storm (waves be hushed)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "crowley + crying" by Brinnanza on the Tadfield Adverstiser kinkmeme (https://tadfield-advertiser.dreamwidth.org/517.html?thread=76293#cmt76293). 
> 
> Title is from Psalm 107: "He stilled the storm to a whisper; the waves of the sea were hushed."

Crowley lay with his head in Aziraphale’s lap, the angel gently stroking his hair with one hand while his other arm was comfortably slung over Crowley’s stomach. He’d been reading at one point. Crowley couldn’t remember what book it was or even when the angel had put it down. His own sunglasses laid forgotten on another pile of dusty books.

“Are you feeling any better, dear?” Aziraphale asked.

“Mmhm,” Crowley gave the impression of a shrug, without actually moving. It had been a particularly bad string of days. He was eating even less than he usually did, was either up and pacing, full of nervous energy, or still and nearly silent, like he was wading through molasses. He wanted more than anything just to sleep, but was lucky to get an hour before waking, breathless, from a nightmare. He felt dry and empty. For heaven’s sake, he hadn’t even screamed at his plants in a week. _Probably getting soft and spotty by now, those lazy bastards._

Worse of all, he had put those little worry lines on the angel’s face. Was taking up too much space on Aziraphale’s absurdly comfortable sofa. _A small, useless thing, damaged beyond –_

Aziraphale stilled. “You’re not -”

 _Fuck._ Had he said that out loud? “I’m a fallen angel, ‘Zira,” Crowley managed, with the barest hint of his usual insouciance. “Damaged and useless is practically in the job description.” 

He felt more than heard the angel’s sharp intake of breath. The hand in his hair clenched almost to the point of pain, before carefully relaxing. Was he in for a scolding? Maybe some rough treatment? 

It would be nice to feel something, for a change.

“Do you remember Mesopotamia?”

Worse. It was _questions_.

“’Course I do,” he said. “Great big boat. Horrible smell.” Crowley was starting to drift again. It felt like floating on the Dead Sea at times. Wanting to drown, unable to. Not allowed to. “Sky goes boom, water goes whoosh.”

“Yes, well,” there was a trace of laughter in the angel’s voice, “the reason that you and me were dealing with that awful stink at all is that we were huddled in the hold with a half an hundred children and their parents you had rescued.”

Crowley shivered, suddenly cold. “Was thwarting. Wiling. Whatever.” Blasted angel. “S’pposed to drown.”

“You saved them.” Aziraphale’s voice was matter-of-fact. “You are a good person, Crowley, and you _care_.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. Couldn’t bear to look up at the angel. Couldn’t bear _to be looked at_ , looked at like he was something precious. When he was anything but. 

“You care so much, “ Aziraphale continued relentlessly, “and you deserve all good things. Dearest, you deserve _everything_.”

He felt the tears building like gathering thunderclouds, like the first thunderstorm in all the world. 

“You have helped, so much, more than you ever hurt. You refused to believe in the end times. You helped _save the world_ , Crowley.” Aziraphale reached down and scratched the curls at the base of his neck. Slow and soft circles, again and again. Crowley took a deep, shuddering breath. “You are kind, and beautiful, and wonderfully made.”

The stormclouds broke, and tears sizzled down Crowley’s face. First one, two, three drops, and then the barrage, battering down with a hurricane’s force. It was too much, too fast, too soon.

(It was not enough. Never enough.)

“You saved me,” the angel whispered. “Saved me from being alone, saved me from Heaven and Hell, saved me for the world.”

He’d never felt so open. So terribly, fiercely loved. Crowley reached up to cling at the angel – _his_ angel – and buried his face in Aziraphale’s neck, still sobbing.

“Oh my love, you are perfect and whole and you saved me, you saved me for you.”

“An – angel,” he hiccuped. He was shaking, great huge tremors of the storm moving through his limbs, his skin, his heart. 

Aziraphale tightened his arms around him. For a moment, it felt like they were both drowning. “If She won’t bless you, I will.” He leaned down and pressed his lips to the top of Crowley’s trembling head. 

Crowley cried out – in fear, in joy. In some indescribable, ineffable emotion. “Angel, angel, I – I -” He couldn’t say it, not while the tears still came tumbling down like stones of a very high wall. 

“Shh, shh,” soothed Aziraphale, warm and real and _here_ , “I know, I know.” He kissed Crowley’s forehead this time, and then rested his chin on Crowley’s head gently. Crowley cried harder, something overgrown and scored and hard breaking open in him at last. Aziraphale held him as the thunder rolled through him, through all the small green places he had held hidden for so long. 

They sat there on the sofa, entwined, for a long time: two angels together, riding out the storm.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading my first fic in absolute ages; I'm planning to post more Good Omens stuff soon! Feel free to check out my [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ekaterinn) and/or my [dreamwidth](https://ekaterinn.dreamwidth.org/) as well.


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